


Q-hut

by pertha



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13261776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pertha/pseuds/pertha
Summary: Able had avoided the fate of a lot of settlements.But goddamn did I hate being in quarantine.





	Q-hut

I loved and hated quarantine. I loved that Able had quarantine at all. Too many settlements had been brought down by someone coming back with a bite that wasn’t caught. And I liked that Abel’s was only for someone returning with broken skin, not a blanket isolation. 

Although it was any broken skin. Not just a bite or a scratch. Catch your arm on a branch? 24 hours in the hole. Slip and go down on some pavement? 24 hours. Even if Sam watched it all happen on the cams. Broken skin equalled quarantine. 

A smart system. Really. And it worked, too. Able had avoided the fate of a lot of settlements. 

But goddamn did I hate being in quarantine. 

The Q-hut was a little pre-fab garden shed. I could stand up and lay down just fine, but I’ve never liked small spaces. I’ve never liked being confined. I’ve never liked being confined in small spaces. 

At least there was a window in the door, although with lattice work bars over it. In nice weather the med team would take the glass out. I would spend most of my 24 hours standing by the window, breathing fresh air. 

There was something nice about the familiar routine of coming back from a run. Someone from the Quartermaster’s would take your pack off to be inventoried. Someone, usually one of the medics, would escort you straight to the infirmary. Some of the runners didn’t like what happened next, but I had been in too many locker rooms and dressing rooms to have any sort of bodily modesty. 

You would head to a shower cubicle with the medic, strip down to the nudie, and get checked over. Sometimes I would talk or make a joke but sometimes I would just stand there, arms out and feet apart, too exhausted to think. Too grateful to be home. 

If you were clear, you got to take a shower, put on clean clothes, and go on with your day. If you had broken skin, like I did after slipping on a wet patch, falling down and scraping my knee and hands, then you got to take a shower, put on clean clothes, and head to the pit. The hole. The prison. Q-hut. 

I never said anything, never complained, never balked. But I’m sure my body language said it all. 

I survived the night, of course. Sam came by, he always came by, just to chat, or make sure I had enough water, or pretend to have a question about something he saw on the cameras. All in all it wasn’t that bad of a time. 

The medic came around right at twenty three hours and fifty minutes to give me my check up and clean bill of health. 

I headed straight for Sam’s comms shack. Maxine was talking about needing some games to keep morale up. I volunteered before she was even finished speaking.


End file.
